Röyksopp & Fever Ray @ Royal Festival Hall, London
- Apr 16, 2009
Amid a day and age dominated by Hype Machines, expiring downloads and YouTube sensations, exclusivity seems to have been thrown off the scent. With even the inspiringly independent Rough Trade up against the ropes, creativity could be said to be fading fast. Not that Scandinavia got that telegram of doom and gloom; tonight's stellar Saturday night fever in the salubrious surroundings of the Southbank's Royal Festival Hall sees Norwegian electro troubadours Röyksopp paired up with Swedish underground oddball Karin Dreijer Andersson as part of the ninth edition of the celebrated Ether Festival and it's out with the mundane, in with the spectacular.
If Fever Ray's self-titled debut record can feel as desolate and sterile as a Swedish suburban winter, Karin appears to thrive in the very setting she fears. Having only ever performed 22 shows with brother Olof as part of The Knife, she finds herself stranded miles away from any sort of comfort zone. Surrounded by hauntingly dim lampshades and accompanied by minions robed in the innards of Cirque du Soleil's warped wardrobe, the unfathomable histrionics of the mysterious charade clench every sense for every second of the hour she graces the stage.
Disguised behind what can only be described as a Chinese New Year dragon costume following a spin in a washing machine with the bleeding shadows and shades of Nine Inch Nails' back catalogue, the mystique esteemed by former incarnation The Knife is hideously apparent. An unnerving highlight appears spuriously when headdresses are removed, lasers blast skywards into the balcony and a vulnerable Karin instils visions of Amazonian landscapes soundtracked by panpipe synths on the majestic Triangle Walks, before picking up a solitary guitar and emotively serenading the few thousand present to witness the debut UK show from the saviour of the darkest tone of electronica.
Following Fever Ray's relentless barrage of sensory overload-inducing blips and groans, the highly anticipated return of Torbjørn Brundtland and Svein Berge seems as contrasting as a rotating headline tour pairing Kylie Minogue together with Marilyn Manson. Yet rooted deep down in the genetic structure of both of tonight's Scandinavian inspirations lies an inherent desire to create a strand of off-the-beaten-path electronic splendour that resides and thrives in neuronal receptors and iPods alike. Taking to the stage in tailcoats straight out of the West End and accompanied by the thunderous clamour of a live bass, opener Röyksopp Forever hints understatedly at the sheer thrill that's set to erupt from their two synth-laden podiums. A solitary microphone wilts centre stage, awaiting a slew of princesses of the Swedish musical monarchy to join the duo; Robyn struts desperately to forthcoming single and inevitable dance floor destroyer The Girl and The Robot in an exhilarating shot of electro perfection, Anneli Drecker (dressed rather unconvincingly as an owl) coos over the euphoric You Don't Have a Clue and Karin returns for the awkward aggression of Tricky Tricky.
Collaborations aside, Brundtland and Berge are more than capable of holding their ecstatic audience in the palm of their hands unaided; an encore (the first of two) filled to the brim with the otherworldly charms of signature track Eple and the vocoded genius of Poor Leno set Röyksopp light-years apart from their closest contemporaries. Havoc ensues in a moment of Spinal Tap-inspired madness as Svein Berge cranks everything up to eleven, launching his trusted laptop from his podium, carefully over keyboards and wires, landing it in pieces on the stage below. And who said Scandinavians lacked a rich sense of humour?
Photo: Darquati's Flickr photostream
